let the pain remind you
by KidWonder
Summary: Lights flash around her and in that moment she misses the trashy reality tv shows and chinese takeout boxes with horrible fortunes hidden in stale cookies. AU Quinntana
1. every broken promise - 1

**I thought I would sort out all my problems by writing a story that has nothing to do with the current status of Glee.**

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><p>It's because of the way the rain falls on the windows that Quinn Fabray finds herself in between the feelings of sad and calm. How even though the sky is grey and flashes with lightening followed by the roll of thunder that she feels safe and yet scared in the confines of her own home. She watches as a black BMW pulls up to the black gates of her Hollywood home, her eyes indifferent as someone steps out, arms in the air, waving to be let in. Their black suit, which probably cost more to be dry-cleaned than it did on the rack, turns darker with each raindrop that seeps into the fabric. She turns away when they spot her sitting by the window.<p>

When she let her life go from glitz and glam to sad and reserved is unclear. The gold statues that sit above her fireplace are a clear sign of success in her field of work, but only sadness and misery fill her now. She hears the faint shout of the man outside and she decides that watching the rain is no longer something she wants to do.

The sound of the buzzer being pushed fills her home. She glances at the small screen on the wall for only a second before walking by it completely. She can hear his voice filter through, raindrops falling harder in the background.

"Babe, let me in. Let's talk about this. We need to talk about this."

They didn't. Her mind was made up for her the moment she walked through the door of _their_ home and noticed a pair of heels that didn't belong to her. Her mind was made up for her when she heard the sounds of laughter and pleasure coming from behind _their _bedroom door. Her mind was made up when she witnessed both of them pull away from each other, guilt, shame and fear on their faces as they tried to cover up their undressed state. In _their _bed, with the sheets _they_ picked out together, with _their_ fucking wedding picture on display on the nightstand on _her _side of the bed.

His voice turns desperate in the background, "Quinn. Open the gate. Babe. Please. I'm so sorry. Please open the gate."

She stops on her journey to the living room, her hand on the wall to hold herself up.

"Quinn. Baby, please open the gate…" The anguish in his voice has her looking back at the screen on the wall. She watches as he stares into the camera. His face turns blurry and almost distorted with raindrops that fall onto the lens. Something within her has her turning around and walking back. Her hand hesitates as it hovers over the numerous buttons. She takes a moment to stare at his face, the way it looks like he is crying but she knows it's the rain playing in his favour. Her finger presses down on a button, her words caught in her throat as his face lights up with hope.

It's silent for only a second before she finds her voice, "Go to hell."

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><p>A hand caresses her thigh, gliding higher and higher. The hem of her dress almost to her waist while a body presses against her. Her knuckles turn white as they grip the edge of the wooden table she is trapped against. The sound of uneven breathing fills her ears as her body tries to catch up to the rest of its senses. When the table begins to creak at the weight that presses it against the wall behind, there is a cough from the other side of the room.<p>

"Cut."

Two bodies detach themselves from each other, light laughter between them as hands try to pull the hem of a dress to a more appropriate level.

"Guys, I love the enthusiasm but you have got to tone it down."

The two girls sheepishly duck their heads, a small laugh is exchanged between the two as the rest of the crew sets up for another take.

"Quinn, can you cheat your body toward the camera? Santana, go for Quinn's left as she cheats towards me, I'm going to come in tight for that shot." Both girls nod as hair and makeup tend to them.

"I thought that one was a lot less sexy than the last one." Quinn turns her attention away from her makeup artist to her co-star, "I mean, at least your tongue wasn't down my throat in this one."

"No," she returns, "because yours was down mine." Quinn's hair artist can't help but chuckle. This only leads Santana, Quinn's co-star, to smile devilishly.

When their respective stylists finish, the two stars are quiet as they stand next to each other, waiting further instruction from their director. The lights dim but no one is making a move to start another take.

"So, I know we aren't the best of friends, but I figure since my hands and mouth have been seen on your body more times than anyone can count on television, I can ask how you're doing…"

Santana Lopez, Quinn's tv co-star, had been an unknown when signing onto the show. Quinn, of course, had no idea who she was or if there was going to be any chemistry between the two. Then again, Quinn originally signed on to only guest star for three episodes but then her decision to file for divorce came up and she decided to make the character permanent. Much to her agent's dismay for having other works in the pipeline for her.

It wasn't every day that an award winning actress for movies switched from Oscars to Emmys. In that time, Santana had become a recurring figure in her everyday life. Not just because she was co-starring with Quinn Fabray in a tv show, but she was also playing Quinn's love interest.

Though Quinn's actual love life was on display for the world to see, the real gossip was between her and her co-star. Which even though it is a ridiculous thought to have, she is thankful for the distraction for her fans. It also helps that Santana takes full advantage of the rumours. Something Quinn's management and PR had had several talks about until Quinn had stated that it was easier to work around a co-star's rumour mill rather than her actual life. One could be manipulated far easier than the other.

Over a very short course of a couple months, Quinn can actually say she trusts Santana. Then again, any actor or actress must when there are things like nudity clauses and sex scenes involved.

"What would you do if I told you I was fine?"

"Tell you, you're full of shit."

"If you already know, why ask?"

"Because it is the decent human thing to do."

"You? Decent? I know where your hands have been, Lopez."

Their banter may be Quinn's favourite part of the day, especially because Santana doesn't treat her like a wounded animal. Santana doesn't candy coat their conversations and Quinn is grateful for the fresh slate. When everyone else in her life tends to tip toe around her, Santana for the most part just doesn't give a shit.

"Ah, and you also know where my hands _could_ be."

"You're horrible-"

"-ly awesome. I'm fucking fantastic actually, and the world agrees with me, Fabray."

Quinn has no chance to reply when the director's voice booms across the set, "Everybody quiet on set! Camera one! Ready and action!"

Santana winks before her hands grip Quinn's waist and they start their scene again.

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><p>Rain falls with no purpose. The smell that usually tells a person when the skies cry, doesn't follow this time around. Quinn almost feels bothered by how unnatural it feels to hear the rain but not actually see it as it hits the ground. Her eyes have turned dull and the usual shine behind them is gone. She has become a shell of a person sitting in an empty living room.<p>

The tears are falling faster than her hands can wipe them away. Her sobs wrack through her body so hard that she is actually glad she is already on the floor. She'd probably would have fallen and hurt herself if she wasn't. A sob catches somewhere in her chest and the only thing she can do is cry out in pain. Pain in its physical form or pain in its emotional form. She isn't sure, but it's there. Like a knife twisting, ever so slowly, making its way deep into the abyss that now has taken up residence where her heart used to be.

She tries to breathe, she tries to see through the tears, but everything hurts too much to really try. Her body curls and it isn't long before she is curling into a ball on the hardwood floor. Her sobs echoing, as if asking for help.

"AND CUT."

Her body lifts itself off the floor, hair and makeup rush toward her, ready with another round of foundation and mascara. Her breaths come in and out a little slower, but it doesn't help the hiccups that follow. It doesn't erase the pain that she tries to hide from her stylist, who looks at her with such concern that Quinn has to turn away from questioning eyes.

"Okay everyone, that's a wrap. Season 1, done. Quinn, that was amazing. Heartbreaking, but amazing none the less." Her director walks onto the set, his hat hiding his eyes as he sets a hand on her shoulder. She chances a look and she wishes she hadn't. The way he looks at her informs her that he feels sorry for her. If it isn't his eyes, it's the way his mouth barely curls into a smile, "I know that wasn't easy."

She doesn't trust her voice, so she nods, she utilizes a shy smile to cover up the pain still buried in her chest. The knife still stuck, the cold metal making it harder to breathe.

He stands, satisfied with the lie he doesn't even detect. The rest of the crew shouting their thanks from behind cameras, cranes, wooden walls and various props. It's a lie built upon the foundation of her very public life.

Tina, her stylist, applies a little more makeup around her eyes and she is grateful for a reason to close them.

"If you don't get nominated for an Emmy, I don't know who will." Tina says nothing else and leaves her be to sit on the floor.

For a small moment, everything is quiet. No rain machine sprinkling in the background, no shouts for cameras, just silence. And in that silence she feels the cold grip of reality engulf her. Burying herself in work did nothing but numb the pain she had run away from.

"Why you let them write that in there is beyond me, Fabray." Santana's tone for once isn't filled with its lightness and pep like Quinn is used to. No, her tone is low and biting. Even though the scene was only Quinn, the way Santana speaks almost makes it as though it were _her_ scene and not Quinn's. "Emmy worthy or not, that was the shittiest thing the writers could have ever done."

"Pain sells…" Quinn's voice is thick, scratchy and dry. Her eyes never leaving the fake windows in front of her. Water droplets still staining the glass.

"Pain like 50 Shades of Grey, yes. This? No. This was cruel. This was your life written out on paper for everyone to watch at 10pm."

"They needed a scene. I gave them one."

"But did you have to give them a part of you? Look, I'm all for that method shit but for fucks sake, you haven't even divorced the son of a bitch yet and here you are showing the world how you dealt with his cheating ass."

Quinn pauses, her hands playing with the hem of her dress, her eyes not daring to look up at Santana's figure, "How would you know how I dealt with it?"

The moment Quinn does decide to look up, she regrets it. Because for the few short months that she has looked into Santana's eyes, she has never seen _this_ look. The look of pity and sorrow, "Because for an award winning actress, you do a shit job of covering up heartbreak. It's almost painful to watch you cry like that because you aren't acting, Quinn."

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><p><strong> line breaks are what nightmares are made out of...<strong>


	2. wont bend to your will - 2

**I just wanted to thank you for the warm welcome you guys gave that first chapter. I hope you stick around for the ride. **

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><p>For having a full house, with memories stained on the walls in forms of pictures during happier times (or so Quinn would like to think), it has never felt so empty in Quinn's heart. From the hardwood floors to the curtains drawn across glass windows, the feeling of change eats away at her. Smiling faces no longer seem genuine, not even her own. Day in and day out, these memories flood her with pain and resentment. Hate and malice. How could she -of all people- have been so blind towards someone actions? Someone who she had once felt the most intense feelings and emotions from. Someone who she had once trusted with her entirety. Someone, she didn't even know at all.<p>

As she lay awake on the couch (the couch she had taken residence in after no longer wanting to go near her bedroom), she thinks to herself about what her life has become. Santana's words play over and over in her mind.

"_...because you aren't acting, Quinn."_

She turns over to face her now drawn curtains. The moonlight is peeking through the smallest of cracks. Had it been the best decision to give the writers a piece of her life? Probably not. But the exhaustion of acting had become taxing to her mind. It was almost relieving to go to work and not think because the scene was an action she had grown so accustomed to over the past few weeks.

She closes her eyes for a moment, not even a second, and the flashes of images that assault her have her sitting up feeling nauseated. A bitter taste invades her mouth at the thought of the very couch she sleeps on, tainted with memories that are not her own. Memories that her mind makes up while she tries to ignore the hurt and the pain.

Her hand quickly finds her cell phone, thumb scrolling through her contacts until she finds the name she is looking for. She is hesitant at first because of the time. It's early but she knows if she keeps this to herself for too long she won't be able to sleep. Bringing the phone to her ear, she waits until the line is picked up, the voice on the other end thick with sleep.

"Quinn?"

"I want to sell the house."

"Quinn, it's 3 o'clock in the morning."

"I want to sell the house. I want to sell it as soon as possible. I can't live here anymore. I can't _stand_ being here anymore."

There is a pause and Quinn can hear the rustlings of a person getting out of bed on the other end, "Okay, okay, hold on a minute. Why now? Why at 3 o'clock in the morning and not 6am or two weeks ago when I asked if you wanted to move? Quinn, is he there?"

Quinn takes her time answering as she looks at the life she has built around her. A life of lies and mistrust.

"I can't sleep anymore. I can't even step into my own bedroom. I look around me and all I see is him and his lies. I close my eyes and I wonder if the couch I have moved to is as tainted as the sheets on my bed. Mercedes, I can't-"

"Let me call Puck and he can come get you. I'll set you up in the Hyatt Re-"

"No, not the The Regency."

"Right, okay. The Del Mar I'll call them now and have Tina stop by later to bring you clothes. Be ready to leave in 10 minutes. I'll meet you at the hotel as soon as I can."

Quinn nods even though it is pointless. She can hear Mercedes, her manager, sigh before saying a quick goodbye. The line goes dead as Quinn sits in the dark.

She is not sure how long she sits in silence for but the sound of the door opening behind her has her clutching at the quilt scrunched up in her lap. She turns to catch the shadow of a person carefully walking into the living room. A light switch turns on and she breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her bodyguard, Noah Puckerman.

They say nothing to each other as he comes around in front of her, eyes full of concern. His arms finding their way around her tired and almost lifeless form, lifting her with ease he holds her close to his chest.

"Let's get you out of here."

He carries her through the house and outside the door, quilt on his shoulder while he walks toward a still running black SUV with a door open and waiting. He says nothing setting her down comfortably in the backseat, the quilt now wrapped around her. His movements are slow but made with purpose. He leaves her, but not without telling her words that assure her of his return. The door closes and instead of silence she is met with the sounds of the radio.

He returns not more than a few minutes later, a couple bags in one hand and a coat in the other. He sets them in the front seat, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments and she smiles.

He returns it with a wink, "Good to know you're still in there, Fabray."

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><p>A week after the early morning move, Quinn finds herself in the middle of her Hollywood hills home with movers awaiting her orders. Mercedes is on the phone, pacing in front of her while Puck stands next to her eyeing the moving crew. When Mercedes looks on to see nothing has been packed she starts pointing to things, each time watching Quinn's reaction to make sure it is something of value or no value.<p>

"Wait."

Everyone stops at the sound of her voice.

"Just leave it all behind."

"Quinn…"

"I don't want it. I'll buy new things. I don't want any of these anymore. Burn the pictures, trash them, sell them, I don't care. I don't want them. Keep it in this house or leave it to rot outside."

When no one counters her, she walks away, Puck trailing after her but not without looking back at Mercedes. She waves him off and apologetically smiles to the moving crew standing and holding boxes.

"Pack the walk in closet in the master bedroom but only the right side. Leave the left side alone. Just her clothes. All the personal pictures in the house, put them in as many boxes needed, I'll figure out what to do with them. Everything else...do as she says. Leave it." She turns to the asian women off to the side, "Tina, pack up all her jewelry and anything in the nightstand on the right side of the bed."

It takes no more than an hour to finalize what little had to be packed. The crew leaves, trailing Mercedes' black sedan out of the gated driveway.

"Puck…"

The man she has known for three years stops before opening the door to the SUV.

"Can we wait across the street? I just want to see the house at sunset for the last time."

He doesn't argue with her even though he knows its a lie. Instead he opens the door and gestures for her to climb in. As he does so, he shoots a quick text to Mercedes to tell her that they'll be a little late to their next location.

5 pm on the dot, Quinn is awoken by a soft shake to her shoulder, "He's here."

She watches a familiar black BMW stop just short of the black gate. A figure stepping out the car, their attention on the grass in front. The white wooden sign, sticking out like a weed in a flower bed. And even though she can't see their face clearly, she can almost feel the panic and shock in their body language.

Maybe it is in the way they fall to their knees on the patch of grass. Or how their hands rake through their hair. Or even the way the sun hits the side of their face that Quinn finally feels a little at peace with it all. The sight of her cheating, soon to be ex-husband, broken and defeated in front of the house they once shared, with a sign for it being sold allows her to feel _just_ a little better.

"We can go now."

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><p>The new house isn't as big as the one she had just left. In all honesty, Quinn had barely looked into the area or the house itself when the idea of buying it came up. Mercedes had shown pictures and a couple of videos to get her familiar with the space, but Quinn had never stepped foot onto the property until now. She was just getting used to room service and the hotel pillows that she could never find anywhere else in stores.<p>

Standing in her new living room with windows unlike her old house, staring out to high trees and not much else. As inviting as it seemed when they pulled up, Quinn sees her mistake in going with ideas that she hasn't really thought over. Her trust in Mercedes too high to second guess any choices made.

But if she were to pick a positive over the negative, nothing reminded her of him. Nothing hints at their life together. There is barely any furniture but she is okay with that, noting somewhere in her mind that Mercedes will have a hell of a time with the interior decorator.

A light turns on somewhere in the distance and if Quinn squints through the high trees of her backyard she can vaguely see the next house over.

"I ordered you a bed from Passerini. They are setting it up now. Your car is already in the garage. I will have landscaping here tomorrow to add more trees so you can sleep easy without the thought of someone peeking through."

Mercedes is listing off things rather than talking to anyone in particular, waving her hands in the air for each item on her ipad. Her feet moving on their own as she continues pacing in front of Quinn.

"You and Cooper are due for an Entertainment Weekly photoshoot on Monday starting at 7am followed by Variety on Tuesday at 8am. The Hollywood Reporter has an interview slot with you on Tuesday at 1pm. That one was rescheduled by the way, we told them they could have it at the house but since we aren't there anymore I moved it to the Chateau. TV Guide on Wednesday with Santana at 1pm at her house as well as a cameo in her InStyle interior shoot at 3pm. But you might have to cancel TV Guide and InStyle because you and Cooper need to be in London for the premiere on Thursday. If I can get TV Guide earlier, I'll do it but your number one is the movie. Quinn are you listening? This is important."

"Entertainment Weekly on Monday. Variety on Tuesday. Hollywood Reporter on Tuesday. Santana on Wednesday but conflicting schedule for movie premiere in London for Thursday. Did I miss anything?" Quinn smirks while Mercedes rolls her eyes.

A couple men enter the living room from the left from a hallway, "Ma'am the bed is set. Mr. Anderson added a few selections for the bedspread with the order. We set them on the mattress."

Quinn nods and lets Mercedes sign for everything, her eyes still on the light in the distance. The sound of the front door closing, indicates the house is now void of additional bodies other than Mercedes.

"I'll email you the rest of your schedule once I get home. Puck is only a five minute drive from you if you need anything. Try to avoid the crowd of paparazzi outside, they have been camping there since I picked the house." Mercedes makes her way out of the living room and towards the front door. She turns abruptly as a thought comes to mind, "Quinn Fabray," her voice stern.

"Yes?"

"You get paid 15 million dollars per movie. You have six coming out this year alone." Quinn frowns at the statements unsure as to where the conversation is going, "Do not ever take a pillow from the Del Mar again."

Quinn opens her mouth in protest but Mercedes has her hand up, "No. I don't care how soft and comfortable they are. I'll let you keep the one you had Tina stuff it in one of your suitcases, but that is it."

A long look passes between them and Quinn knows the look is more to make sure Quinn won't breakdown as soon as the front door closes. In a surprising blink, arms encircle her frame and warmth surrounds her. She can't help but smile and embrace Mercedes back. The act unusual, but somehow, comforting.

"I'll be okay," Quinn promises.

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><p><strong>Also thank you for the reviews, I smile with your thoughts of who is who or what's really going on. And thank you to the poor fucking soul that has to reread through my errors over and over again. And even though you have gone through it many times...I still add things and put up mistakes. <strong>


	3. i'll change i swear - 3

**Quick note, this is a slow story. Quinntana comes up, it does. I just want to get some things out of the way first. I thank you again for continuing and I hope you like it.**

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><p>The house starts to grow on Quinn on the first night. She thinks it's the bed, because it has no connection to the one that she wishes she had burned in the last house. Mercedes thinks it's the location, a lower part of the hills and far less pricey than the five bedroom house that was just sold. Tina and Puck chalk it up to how much sun is allowed in. Something that Quinn, at first look, was unsure of because she thought it was too much sun but that first morning she woke up in her new bed and new sheets. There was something about the way the light filtered through her bedroom window. Almost cleansing in the way it started at her feet and then met her eyes. Not harshly and intrusive but calming and fresh.<p>

Quinn will never tell Puck or Tina that they are right about the sunlight. She'd rather keep that secret to herself or they will all chime in with, it was their idea to pick it.

Sunday evenings are Quinn's nights to prepare for the week. This week especially with the press junket starting. Mercedes is usually always on edge but more so than usual this time around. Maybe it's the fact that Quinn's soon to be ex-husband keeps reaching out to her. Or the fact that the paparazzi, even though they have not been able to get a photograph of her in her new house, have been camped outside since Mercedes bought it. Which, for people who make a living stalking other peoples lives, shouldn't be all that impressive, but it is.

Mercedes is sitting on a newly bought couch, one of the many pieces of furniture that Quinn had to check off on a very long list from Mercedes. Papers cover her carpet and Mercedes is muttering to herself about questions and answers. A process that Quinn learned to just sit and wait until Mercedes tells her what to say and not to say in interviews.

"Okay, whatever entertainment weekly does, they should be in the green light to ask. I told them not to talk about your marriage or dating or love life. Family is out of the question. If they do try, so help me I will-"

"I'm pretty sure Rory knows better than to go against you when it comes to the questionnaire, besides, Coop will be there next to me. If there is one other entertainer that has a long list of 'do not ask these questions', it's Coop." Quinn shrugs from her position on the floor with a glass wine in hand.

Cooper Anderson. Hollywood heartthrob, baby blue eyes that melt anyone staring into them, body of a greek god and a smile that could charm anyone's pants off. Great personality, sweet and generous. To everyone, he would be a perfect man. Unfortunately, not for Quinn Fabray.

The first time she met Cooper, he was wasted at an awards after party. A flute of champagne in one hand and his other extended out toward her asking her to dance. In his drunken state, he impressively keeps to the beat of the music, but during a final twirl he brings her back close to him and whispers a secret that he was all to happy to announce.

A secret that Mercedes apparently had known about well before the media had gotten a hold of it and spun in it a way that almost made it ridiculous to imagine. So when Quinn had gotten the lead role in an untitled production, the choice on her co-star was a no brainer.

"Well I wish another co-star of yours was as easy to coordinate around like Coop." Mercedes says this underneath her breathe but Quinn doesn't miss the frustrated sigh that follows it.

"Mercedes..."

Her manager raises an eyebrow, "You know if it isn't your marriage that I'm constantly monitoring with the team, its Santana Lopez."

Quinn sets her glass down, "I haven't seen Santana since we wrapped." She knows Mercedes is talking about other forms of communication.

"Apparently you don't have to see each other because twitter and instagram are just full of you two and I'm not talking pictures."

Quinn can't hide the smile that creeps up onto her face. Because she knows what Mercedes is referring to. The comments between Quinn and Santana are at most, innocent. Merely teasing to what they could be. They had started out very diplomatic and supporting of one another when the show had started. Constantly tweeting each others success and accomplishments with kind words and encouragement. A social media relationship that both teams were wary of but had let both girls do as they wanted.

It wasn't until the set pictures started popping up in rather odd angles and too close for Mercedes comfort that someone had to step in and tell them to mindful. The show of course craved the attention, loved it, it was free promotion even though the girls weren't actually promoting the show but more their crazy antics. Both of the girls respective teams, however, were constantly reviewing comments and pictures posted.

"We're friends, Mercedes. Can't I talk to my friends?"

Mercedes reaches for her own wine glass on the coffee table, "You got her number, text it to her. You have a failed marriage on your shoulders, you don't need a scandal involving your co-star on top of it."

"You can take your white hat off. Santana and I are just friends."

"You barely know the girl."

"I'm pretty sure an entire season with my mouth attached to hers says I know her more than _barely_."

"Do you know the rumours that follow her?"

Quinn stands and grabs a quilt off the back of the couch to wrap around herself, "Why does that even matter? You of all people should know how rumours work and why they follow people."

Mercedes exhales soundly, her frustration as blatant as Quinn's. She opens her mouth to argue back but she stops before words can even form. Being Quinn Fabray's manager comes with it's ups and downs, Mercedes knows that, but with the constant beams that aim at Quinn's personal life she can't help but be protective.

"Is this why you canceled the InStyle shoot for Wednesday? Because you think it will make me look bad if I go and support a friend?"

"Quinn…"

"The entire cast of the show is going to be there. Do you really think me not attending is going to make it look any better?"

Mercedes closes her eyes shut, fingers rubbing circles at her temples in hopes that the conversation will cease but she knows it won't. When Quinn Fabray is on a roll, there is no stopping her. The best course of action is to walk away and let the conversation sit with Quinn until there is a text message at 2am with the words 'I'm sorry'.

"I'm going to go. I suggest getting a good nights sleep because you have 7am tomorrow with Cooper. Puck will be here at 530 to pick you up. Makeup and fitting is at 615."

The front door closes before Quinn can register that Mercedes is gone.

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><p>7am rolls around with silence. Quinn plays her part with Cooper. Talks kindly and with praise the entire morning. Thankfully Cooper doesn't comment on her overly diplomatic and forced nature though he does eye her from time to time during the photoshoot. She thinks she can almost get away with it until Cooper gently grabs her hand before she can leave, his eyes silently questioning her.<p>

"I'm fine, Coop."

He says nothing but nods in acceptance that that is all he will get. She in turn is grateful he doesn't push it more than that.

The rest of the day passes with a blur. Little appearance here and there. Questions about the movie, questions about the TV Show and to Mercedes credit no questions about her life changes. And even though the day isn't as full as it could be, Quinn can be thankful that, for once, the world is interested in her work and not her personal life.

A sudden stop on the way home at 9pm has her lurch forward. Her reflection of the day gone and replaced with confusion.

"Puck?"

"Sorry. I didn't see the light in time." She watches from her seat in the back and notices his eyes darting back and forth between the rear view mirror and the side view mirrors. The muscles in his face contorting in curiosity and caution.

"Puck, what's wrong?"

The car starts forward as the light changes, "A black SUV about two cars behind. It's been following us since Lexington."

Mercedes turns her head to look, "Paparazzi?"

Puck shakes his head and returns his attention to the road, making the usual turns, his eyes checking the mirrors every now and again, "I'm going to take a different route and see if this guy follows."

Quinn's nerves spike and she can feel the anxiety creeping up in her chest. She pays attention to Mercedes who has her eyes glued to the side view mirror. The car ride turns eerily silent and Quinn's mind wanders to possible scenarios. Her heart begins trying to escape her chest with every new terror she imagines. Husband? His mother? God forbid her own mother.

As the car drives down a familiar road, whatever danger there was vanishes but only for a moment because Puck is stopping a house short of hers and Mercedes is turning around to tell her to stay in the car. The driver's side door is opening and Puck is already outside waving his hand frantically at the same black SUV from earlier.

She can't hear much other than Puck spewing curse words at the other car. But when a oddly familiar figure steps out, Quinn squints.

Quinn doesn't wait for Mercedes to confirm anything. She is out the door before any protests come from her manager. Her hands pulling her cardigan tighter around her frame, a smile plastered on her features as she approaches Puck and the other figure.

"Dave Karofsky."

A man, much larger than Puck, waves shyly to her. After seeing the same man for nearly 6 months straight stand at attention in front of entrances and events, it would be hard to misplace him.

"Ms. Fabray."

"Oh no, please, you know to call me Quinn by now."

Puck pats him on the back to bring him a little closer, "I told him he scared the shit out of me following us like that."

"I wasn't following! You just happen to take the same route." Both men laugh and Quinn suddenly remembers why she had become so interested in Dave being present.

"Is?"

Dave has no time to stop her because she is already knocking on the back passenger window, waiting for a friendly face to appear in front of her. But the window only makes it to about half way when Quinn notices that the brunette she is expecting is not on the other side. A lighter brunette pops up in front of her instead, eyes just as wide as hers.

"Quinn!"

"Marley..."

They stare at each other in silence, Puck and Dave having a small conversation about a game in the background. Quinn takes a chance to look around Marley but front passenger window starts to roll down and Quinn is met with another familiar face. One that she doesn't see as often as people would think.

"Kurt." It rolls off her tongue with such a precise pronunciation that everyone listening wonders if she is filled with curiosity, dread, hesitation, or some other strange cocktail of emotions.

"Quinn."

Her demeanor quickly changes from hopeful to business, "And what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you tonight? Does this have to do with the InStyle shoot?"

Kurt slants his head at the question, an amused smile on his face, "And here I thought it was you coming to us about the shoot."

"What are you talking about?"

"You tell me, you're parked in front of the driveway."

Quinn is about argue that the her driveway is a house down but it gets caught somewhere in her throat, her neck turning at an almost painful speed to look at the house behind her. Her mind tries to wrap around the information and she ends up shaking her head with a chuckle.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

The situation is comical to say the least. To think that Santana had been this close the entire time, Quinn laughs. She wonders if this is the reason for the all day paparazzi crowd. It would make sense as to who they were really waiting for.

Kurt makes a sound as if asking her to clarify but she doesn't pay attention as she continues to take in the house.

"Quinn? Hey," Fingers snap in front of her eyes and she has to blink a few times before turning to face Kurt fully again, "You didn't answer the question. What are you doing here?"

"Is she home?" Kurt frowns and starts to shake his head but Marley is basically climbing out of the window like an over excited puppy.

"We just dropped her off!"

Kurt's mouth drops and he is turning in his seat trying to swat Marley to get back in the car, "Marley! Sit down! Damn it." They bicker for a few seconds until Marley concedes and resumes her previous place in her seat. Kurt faces Quinn once more with a sigh, "She's feeling sick so no midnight shenanigans."

"Please, it's barely even 10."

"Don't you have a press tour to prepare for?"

"She does." Mercedes appears next to Quinn, arms folded across her chest.

"Mercedes, how nice of you to join us. How are you?" Kurt's voice is laced with fake cheer, the kind of tone that anyone listening would know that these two weren't the best of friends. When Mercedes continues to glare back at him, Quinn decides maybe now isn't the greatest of times to try and weasel her way out of more prep.

"Right, well, I'll call her."

Kurt's window is already moving up, "You do that." His eyes never leaving Mercedes' steely gaze.

* * *

><p><strong>There is something interesting about not naming a character and watching that unfold with an audience. I do have a name for the son of a bitch and I have actually edited myself not to write his name beyond my outline. Thank you again for reading, I hope that answered some questions. If it didn't well...shit I'm sorry.<strong>


	4. i can't even sleep awake - 4

**Your reviews are comforting. I thank you for the theories and the shared hatred of that asshole. It warms my heart to know we all hate him just the same.**

* * *

><p>Mercedes doesn't bring up the fact that the two actresses live next to each other and neither does Quinn. With the press tour being so overwhelming and exhausting the little piece of information is nearly forgotten. All the talks of sequels and on set stories as well as award talks, Quinn barely has enough time to think about her pending divorce. Interview after interview, and before Quinn can process the time she is on a plane to London with Cooper sitting next to her talking about future projects. Her life is a whirlwind starting at zero to 800 in six seconds.<p>

Sleeping is an option instead of a necessity at this point. Her schedule is so tight, eating has even become a small after thought. Quinn is so lost in the world of entertainment that she doesn't register the words coming out of Mercedes mouth during the London after party.

"Quinn. Quinn, we need you on a plane now."

There is a heaviness in Mercedes' voice that has Quinn shiver. The feeling when something bad has happened and you want to know but at the same time you rather not.

"I don't-"

"It's your mom."

Standing in her Versace gown, flute in hand, music lightly filling the background and Cooper laughing in the distance, Quinn's world shifts. It's a moment she had been waiting for. Where the other shoe drops and everything is the way she had imagined it to be. Dark and miserable. A cheating husband and a mother who won't leave her own cheating husband. Her life is fairy tale packaged with thorns and lies.

"They just admitted her. Your sister is already flying in as we speak. I already sent Puck the address, he will fly back with you. Your travel back will be on a need to know only basis. Cooper will handle the press for tomorrow. I'll fly in tomorrow, I got you and Puck the last tickets out for tonight."

She is rushed out the venue with Puck at her side. Mercedes does her best to handle the photographers pushing their way through the crowd, yelling her name to catch her attention. They are in the car and on their way to the airport, Tina next to her handing her a change of clothes. In all her years as an actress, she has never had to change in the back seat of the car. She has always had the luxury of time on her hands.

* * *

><p>Nearly 24 hours of travel time later, Quinn is back in L.A. The gaggle of paparazzi that usually await her at the airport are scarce as she arrives early in the morning. Her mental state is exhausted. The 7 hour layover in New York sapped most of the energy out of her as she tried to stay out of public view. A few people noticed her, but Puck had done a great job of keeping her hidden in the airline lounge. She let a couple of fans approach her and was thankful when all they asked of was an autograph and no pictures.<p>

She finds herself walking without much purpose through the hospital doors. Her emotional wall dwindling with each passing moment. Unsure of what she will face when she is presented with the reality of her mother's state. A fear hidden inside with the thought of having to face her sister and mother in the same room. Something she had avoided doing for years. Many lies and rain checks later, Quinn wonders if it would have been beneficial to have gone home at least once for the holidays.

The nurse at the desk looks at her with awe and stumbles through words on hospital policy but is quickly redirected when Puck intervenes. A floor and room number are given without contest and the two are off toward the elevators. The ride up is quiet and still, with each passing second a bit of Quinn's resolve disappears. She never did have the stomach for family issues. It's why she left in the first place.

Quinn hesitates outside a door, the windows are covered with blinds making it impossible to see who is inside or if it is even appropriate to do so.

"I'd go inside before people start to notice." Puck's gruff voice an indication on his lack of sleep.

"Would it be bad if I just wanted to go home?" It's weak, she knows, but dealing with family had never been her forte.

"Would you be okay being home while your moms is in the hospital?"

"Yes," She feels terrible, "No."

"Then maybe you should go inside."

She nods reluctantly and pushes the door open with little effort. She is greeted with a sight she knows all too well. She spent the better part of her school years in hospitals, her sister in the chair next to the bed while her mother slept away the pain meds pumping into her. The only difference in the situation now is her mother is awake and her sister isn't in the usual seat but standing by the window.

"Well, look who finally showed up." Her sister crosses her arms and Quinn feels like she is 13 all over again.

"Frannie, don't talk to your sister like that."

Frannie Fabray, Quinn's older and, in her father's words, the 'more accomplished' of the Fabray sisters. Where Frannie was grace and class, Quinn was considered average and a hindrance. In reality, the two were very similar in beauty. Frannie had height and a frame that could be mistaken for a model. Hair golden and sun kissed at the right angle. Her face holding much of the same structure as Quinn's. All but the nose. The nose that Quinn had broken in her early teens. Something that Frannie has always said was the only reason Quinn had become so popular. Their fights ending in insults of having to pay for beauty rather than be born with it. A fight that Frannie no longer uses due to a few augmentations to her own body. But even with the lack of beauty insults, Frannie is still a fierce and commanding presence.

"Can't show up for Thanksgiving, but comes running when someones in the hospital."

"I came as soon as I heard."

"Yes, 24 hours later."

"I was out of the country, Fran."

"Oh, right, I forget. Your lifestyle gives you no time for family."

Quinn silently reminds herself that her sister has and always will be the same. That no matter what is said in return, Frannie will always be Frannie.

"Mom?" She tries to ignore the way Frannie rolls her eyes but it's impossible when Frannie makes it a point to show distaste for Quinn's presence.

"Oh don't worry about me. Just a slip."

Quinn can feel her face twitch with the lie that easily slips through her mother's lips. How she knows the bandages around her mother's head are from a fall from the stairs. The same stairs her mother had told her to stop running up and down when she was little. The same stairs she had seen her mother fall from for the first time when she was ten. She will never forget the sound of glass breaking and the bottle of Gin that rolls toward her feet. Or the look Frannie had given her when calling for the ambulance.

"Mom…" She wishes, just once, that her mother would tell her the truth. But she also knows she has lost most of that trust along with her sister's when she told them she couldn't be in the house anymore. Or how she never wanted to be in pageants like her sister. Or how she didn't want to go to college after high school. She did not only hear the disappoint in her family but could see it with every moment until she had left.

"I'm fine sweetheart. You didn't have to come all that way to see me."

"But-"

"Why don't you go on home. You look awfully tired. Come back tomorrow when you've rested up. And bring that handsome husband of yours along with you. I haven't seen him in a while. You two are so busy."

Frannie raises an eyebrow at the mention of the word 'husband', "Yes, Quinn. Why don't you bring your husband tomorrow? I'm sure he can take time out of his busy schedule to see his mother-in-law in the hospital."

The situation with her husband had been public but she knows that it would never reach her mother, who never understands any news that comes her way. The thought of having to explain a failed marriage, another thing to put on the list of disappointments to her parents.

A nurse walks in with a tray, all smiles as if there wasn't tension in the room, "Okay ladies, it's time to let your mother take her medication."

Quinn and Frannie walk out the door to leave their mother be. Quinn knowing the words waiting to come out of her sister's mouth. She can practically see them forming in that 'perfect' blonde head of hers.

"So when are you going to tell mother dearest of your failing marriage? Waiting for the day it shows up on a bottle or in one of her country club newsletters?"

"Can you stop?"

"Why? You want me to feel sorry for you? You want me to hug you and pat you on the back for marrying a guy that NONE of your family was present for? You were so busy trying to impress mom and dad that you couldn't even see that he never loved you."

It's loud. It's so loud that nurses and other hospital staff have to stop their daily routine to stare at the two in the hallway. The slap leaves her hand stinging but she's sure Frannie's face is in a similar situation, especially with the way her sister holds a cheek in shock.

Somewhere in the midst of the whispers and curious eyes, a flash goes off and Puck is pulling Quinn away from the scene, leaving Frannie to stare in disbelief.

* * *

><p>By midday Quinn is locked away in her own house. She can hear Mercedes' arrival because she's practically yelling at Puck for letting the incident in the hospital happen. A nurse had taken a blurry picture, nothing of great importance, and no one could really tell it was Quinn or Frannie to begin with, but it had been spread over the internet in less than 4 hours. Blogs and websites pouring in comments of peoples takes on the scene. Thankfully, no word on her mother being the reason of the visit but her sister did show up a few times as well as the other blonde.<p>

Heavy footsteps make their way down the hallway and Quinn makes for her door, clicking the lock in place, not wanting to see Mercedes at all. She knows the problems that come with this kind of press. Especially during the movie's premiere.

"Quinn Fabray." The door muffles her managers booming voice, but not by much. It's still frightening to hear.

"I don't want to talk about it, Mercedes."

"Girl, you better open this damn door before you pay for a new one. Don't you test me, Quinn."

It's hesitant but Quinn is unlocking it and positions herself as far away from the door as possible. Legitimate fear in every fiber of her being when Mercedes walks through the door in what looks like travel clothes, meaning it hadn't been long since the plane landed.

"She provoked me."

Her lame attempt at an excuse is pathetic and Mercedes can only scoff, "I know you and your family got issues, but, damn. You people crazier than my folks back home."

"Can we talk about this tomorrow? I didn't sleep on the plane and I've been on edge since we left the hospital. I just really need a day-"

Mercedes is waving her hand in the air to stop Quinn from continuing because she knows it is only going to be filled with excuses. "Just take it. I need time to sort this mess out and I haven't even eaten yet so take the day. Stay home. No twitter, no Instagram, no Facebook. I want radio silence from you."

Quinn can only nod because it isn't every day that Mercedes is willing to let her off the hook. Or ever for that matter. Mercedes is always known for keeping things in order, it's the reason Quinn chose her.

"I'm going home. Puck is waiting to see if you need anything."

In all honesty, Quinn had seen the conversation playing out differently. She definitely wasn't prepared for the lack of anger or frustration. She had expected the works, the yelling, the reprimanding, hell, she was even coming to terms with Mercedes taking her cell phone away. But as Mercedes walks back out the room and out the door, Quinn has to shake her head in wonderment. She watches Mercedes back out of her driveway, while Puck stands next to her.

"That was nicer than expected." She says more to herself than to Puck who nods.

"She's worried. We're all worried. You've been going through too much and, to be honest, I'm surprised you haven't ended up on drugs...or worse."

"Or worse?"

"You could be pregnant with that dude's kid."

"I'd be a horrible mother." She says this with her own mother in mind and what life she had when growing up. There isn't anything true in the statement but what she sees as obvious as light and day to her is completely different from the views of those around her. Quinn knows she can be stubborn, temperamental, and, at times, unreasonable. All traits she associates with her mother and, sometimes, her father. But she also knows she would probably fight to the very end to make sure any kid she brought into the world had a life worth being proud of. Not to say Quinn isn't proud of her accomplishments, but the way she went about doing so could have involved a lot more family and a lot less lonely nights wishing she was home.

"I think you'd be a great mom," Puck quietly confesses.

* * *

><p><strong>I know you guys are looking for Santana and at this point it is like where the fuck is Waldo. I'm sorry for the wait or well more waiting since...it's been 84 years since she has shown up.<strong>


	5. what if it only gets colder - 5

The rest of the day goes on without problems. Mercedes had only called in once to say the crisis had been slightly averted, but the picture still remains. If Quinn wasn't careful, she would be facing Frannie's wrath at going to the public about their family. Not that Frannie would ever out their family's dirty laundry but Quinn wouldn't put it past her sister. After all a Fabray is a Fabray.

But even with the lockdown and the aversion of the press getting ahold of family dirt, Quinn still wishes she were able to go and walk around the city she lived in. She can only walk around her new house so many times before the walls start to become boring and every little thing wrong with the house becomes something just a little bigger.

Her doorbell rings and she hopes it's Tina so she can at least talk to another human being. After getting married, she seemed to have notice the lack of friends that came to her aid. It's like when someone hears the word divorce in Hollywood he or she must be shunned until they learn their lesson. Whatever lesson that may be, Quinn doesn't know. She wonders if it is her own fault that her lack of friends is due in part to her only really hanging around her husband. The parties, the galas, the events and the premieres all had her next to him. It hurts to think about him, the thought that he was her only friend because she had tried her best to avoid attachment with anyone else. She could call the numerous cast and crew she has worked with over the years friends but would she invite them over for a dinner? Probably not. When she really thinks about it, Mercedes, Puck and Tina are her only real constants.

What a sad life she must portray if people see that the only friends she really has are her manager, bodyguard and stylist. The only real people who know her inside out. At least the only real people who know her now. The last being...well, an asshole.

She opens the door in hopes of finding her bubbly stylist, but it surprises her when she sees Santana in a hoodie and sunglasses with bags in her hands. It's ridiculous because the sun is no longer out and the only light that shines are the ones on the street and even those don't warrant sunglasses. Of course if Quinn hadn't known Santana in just about every outfit known on earth, she would have called the police but it's the hair that peeks out from the sides of the hood that give her away. Or maybe it's Santana's figure in unnecessary large clothing. Either way, Quinn is impressed with herself for not closing the door.

"You going to let me in or are we going to keep this staring contest up because I'm going to tell you right now, Q, I play dirty."

Quinn stands aside while Santana rushes in, bags rustling with her movements, "Sorry, I thought maybe you were at the wrong address?"

"Right, because I would ring my own doorbell."

"Kurt might have locked you out?"

"Like I would let that princess run my own house or give him a key for that matter."

The hood drops and Quinn can't help but stare at Santana's natural beauty. How effortless it is for someone to pull off something so simple. No makeup, no hair products, not even a lip gloss. She is reminded of her younger days when she would think the same of her sister. Back when she actually adored Frannie and not hated her.

"Jeez, if I knew I would look that bad without makeup I would have totally touched up a bit." Santana tries to put her hood back on but Quinn is shaking her head in a rush.

"No, no. I'm just jealous is all."

Santana snorts and the sunglasses disappear somewhere into a pocket, "Right says the woman ranked in Sexiest Women in Hollywood."

"Are you kidding me? I'm ranked like 87."

"Are they ranking you from the waist up? Because..." Santana does a lewd action of gazing at Quinn's figure, which is clad in anything but sexy, unless pajama pants and a sweater were the new must haves to make the list.

Quinn swats Santana on the shoulder, a slight blush creeping up onto her cheeks as she does so, "Stop it. What are you even doing here?"

"I heard you went apeshit in a hospital. Went all slapfest with some chick on the fifth floor. Heard you won, too."

"I didn't go apeshit. It was a family feud of sorts. And that 'chick' is my older sister."

Santana shrugs, her hand digging into one of the brown bags and procuring a bottle of wine, "Minor details, either way, I came over to celebrate your win. It's about time you took a badass role, lord knows you are due for one."

Quinn has to smile at the slip because she had never taken Santana to be a person to admit to watching her co-stars movies, "You've watched my movies?"

"Duh. I had to see what kind of person was going to be my love interest. I was actually surprised you took the role with your history of…" Santana pauses and Quinn can tell she is trying her best not to offend, but Santana would not be Santana Lopez if she didn't, "Playing women needing to be defined by men."

"Ouch."

"Hey, your last one with the guy and the pregnancy was super emotional and I see why you got the nom but she went back to him, I find something severely wrong about that. She could have done it without him. He was a loser."

"And she was in love."

"Whatever, point it is, I was super convinced it was going to be awkward and I was glad that you were only going to guest star for like four episodes. But then you walked through the door and blew everyone away with your A+ acting and bottle blonde hair. And-" Santana seems almost taken aback by her own confessions that her voice lowers to nearly a whisper, "And you stayed."

Quinn almost wants to push for more but she knows it would be unkind to make Santana feel uncomfortable, "Got anything stronger than that?" She points to the bottle of red in Santana's grip.

"Does kung pow chicken count?"

* * *

><p>It's surprising to Quinn how easy she slips into a friendship with Santana Lopez. For someone who had kept people at a certain distance for most of her acting career, she certainly has no problem having Santana around her. The feeling of having someone around her that isn't Mercedes or Puck, almost foreign but a breath of fresh air. She isn't hearing things about her schedule or what game is going on. She talks instead about the diets that she hates to go on, or the wardrobe that people think she'd wear at events. They laugh at on set stories that have become inside jokes.<p>

They laugh and Quinn doesn't feel so broken for once. They don't talk about her marriage or her family, even though Quinn knows that Santana would listen without judgement if it were brought up. But she also knows that Santana would have a few choice words to add.

The remainder of the red wine is in their glasses. Chinese take out spread out on the carpet in the living room. Quinn remembers other nights she would spend like these but never with chinese take out. Her husband would never order anything so unhealthy. Neither would Mercedes for that matter.

"My trainer is going to kill me for having chinese right now." Quinn is holding a take-out container full of noodles and ordinarily it wouldn't be a problem but it turns into one when there is already an empty container next to her. Even with all the talk about horrible diets and having to keep an image that she herself isn't too fond of keeping, she knows that she will have to hit the gym sometime this week in order to balance her food choices. Because as much as she loves her job, the need to please the world with her body image is by far one of the most uneasy feelings she will ever have. She remembers when she was little and not caring what she ate or what she wore but around the time Frannie had started fat jokes was when her parents had stepped in and told her to watch her diet. She was 10.

"You and me both. " Santana stretches her legs in front of her from her position on the floor. Movements, slow and almost too sensual for Quinn not to stare. The envy grows more than just movements but with body as well. She knows fully well Santana's workout schedule. She remembers catching her at the gym near the lot. She also knows that Santana could eat anything and not gain a single ounce of fat. She knows because she's heard her trainer talk about Santana's trainer not having much to do over different periods of time.

"Please, you could eat an entire food truck's worth of food and still maintain the figure you have now without stepping into a gym."

Santana doesn't miss a beat, "That's because there are other things you can do that don't require a gym." Her eyebrows rising suggestively.

Quinn picks up a fortune cookie from the coffee table and chucks it at Santana's head. She misses completely, which in this situation is a feat with Quinn no more than a few feet away from Santana.

"God, they never chose you to play on teams in school did they?" Santana laughs as she says this, her hands trying to hide her widening smile.

Quinn opens her mouth in shock, "Excuse you, I was in drama." A laugh of her own escapes at the attempt to make her younger self seem cooler than she was, "I didn't need to be on teams."

"Of course you were."

"I did other things too!" Quinn tries her best to defend herself.

"Like what?"

Quinn mutters something underneath her breath and it is so inaudible that Santana has to lean forward hoping for Quinn to repeat it. She doesn't.

"I'm sorry what was that?"

"Cheerleading."

Santana's eyebrows shoot up and not in surprise or shock but in interest.

"I can picture that, Q. Short skirt, high ponytail, spanks-"

Quinn chuckles to herself because she wishes she could see the picture painted in Santana's mind. She wishes this because she knows it is no where near the reality.

"I only made it because my sister was captain the year I tried out. And I wasn't all good, I can't do a cartwheel to save my life. By the second week of fumbling my way through routines," The memory still fresh in Quinn's mind as she relives it, "My sister handed me my uniform for the year. I wish I could say it was sexy but there is only so much you can do with the school mascot uniform that they never washed."

If the story makes Santana uncomfortable, she doesn't show it.

"Well that explains why you had the guts to slap her."

"Oh you know, good ole sibling rivalry." It's a joke but Santana shakes her head.

"I wouldn't know, actually. Only child."

"Of course you were." Quinn smiles thinking of a life she only wishes she had, "Birthdays and Christmas must have been amazing for you."

"If being alone for most of them counts as amazing, then sure, I guess it was amazing." Quinn frowns at Santana's admission. The mood shifting quickly by the tone of Santana's voice and the way her brown eyes cast down, "My parents weren't around much and my grandmother hated having me near her, sometimes I wish I had sibling just so I could talk to someone."

"And now look at us-"

"Still having sibling fights and my grandmother still hates me. I think we're doing great." The joke lightens the mood. Both of them smiling at each other's predicament.

"If it makes you feel any better, my teenage mascot self would have talked to you."

"And that's really sweet, Q, but highschool me was the biggest bitch ever. I would have given your sister a run for her money and her captaincy."

"You were a cheerleader?"

"National Champions three times in a row." There is a sense of pride in Santana's voice that Quinn has never heard before. Quinn wonders if she could ever have that kind of pride in her younger self. She wishes she could but she knows she hated her younger years as much as she hated her family.

"Do you still know the choreo?"

Santana smirks with the tilt of her head, "Why? Want me to dance for you?"

Quinn reddens quickly at the implications of her words and has to look away, "No, I-I just. I was genuinely curious is all. I wasn't-" She gets tongue tied and her mind can't keep up with what words are being vomited out of her mouth. She honestly hadn't meant for it to sound so suggestive. She should have known that Santana would gone for the window. "I was going to say it would make uhm sense that-that you did with that one scene...you did."

It's pathetic and if it weren't for the fact that she was already embarrassed she would face palm herself.

"Half naked with you for almost a whole season and this is when you turn red."

"Hush." Quinn can feel her cheeks burn and the wine isn't helping, "I didn't mean for it to sound so suggestive."

Santana laughs this time. A full laugh, the kind that has her hands around her stomach while she tries not to fall over. All the while Quinn tries to hide herself behind her hands. Who knew that after everything Quinn has endured in the past 36 hours, all it would take to make it better was cheap wine and chinese take out. And, of course, Santana Lopez.

In the midst of their laughing, a thought comes to mind.

"You should come to the premiere."

Santana has a few more chuckles before settling down, her eyes locking with Quinn's, "You're serious?"

"Why not? You can tell me what you think of my latest role."

"This isn't you asking for a personal cheerleader?"

Quinn smiles as she stands from her place on the carpet, her hands grabbing the empty glasses of wine. Her feet pad on the hardwood floor towards the kitchen. She is out of sight and all Santana can hear are the sounds resembling a bottle being opened. It is then that Quinn's voice carries into the living room.

"I'd only ask you if you still had the uniform."

* * *

><p>Surprisingly enough, both girls' respective managers agree to the invitation. Mercedes giving the okay the night Quinn had asked. Kurt took a couple more hours but eventually said yes. Their first night of wine and takeout had been unplanned, yet a success. A story that Mercedes had heard through the grapevine or, rather, Tina had heard. And a conversation that Quinn had to sit through her morning coffee for. It was only after Quinn had convinced her disgruntled manager that both girls had stayed away from the press and the media did Mercedes concede.<p>

All in all, after the events at the hospital, Quinn had thought she might have gotten away for once. It wasn't true of course because she had gone to see her mother again the next day only to have Frannie come in five minutes later. Her mother's attention completely diverted to Frannie's slightly swollen cheek. Quinn no longer a figure of interest in the room.

Frannie always was the favourite.

It didn't matter of course, no matter how much Quinn wanted it to matter. She knew that her mother would never see her the way she would want anyone in her family to see her as. Successful. Driven. Talented. A daughter to be proud of. No, that is all Frannie and god did she make it known.

She didn't stay long after Frannie's arrival. She figured she would avoid another fight by just leaving. Not that either family member would care or notice. This is what happens of course, when Quinn chooses her career over family. Not that it was much of a decision but she knows she could have made an effort earlier on. She didn't and it's why she can't be angry. She chose to have her family hate her. What else was new?

"You look sick. You sick?" Mercedes has hand on Quinn's back and it's cold. And It's enough for Quinn to shiver out of her memories and remember she is on her way to another premiere.

"I'm fine. I'm just tired." It isn't untrue, but it certainly isn't the entire reason either.

"Well you better untired yourself. I got enough to worry about, I don't need you to be passing out on the damn red carpet."

"I'm fine, Mercedes. I just didn't sleep much last night."

"Oh, I know. I was right next to you and your new best friend looking at dresses for this damn premiere. I don't know why you chose to go with a different dress at the last minute. Probably got the idea from Santana if I didn't know any better. Couple of teenagers getting ready for prom is what you two looked like last night."

It's true.

And even though Quinn almost feels like she is being told off by a parent, she doesn't really mind. Because it was this kind of parenting that her mother never had the 'time' for when it came to Quinn's time in school. It's ridiculous to think Mercedes as her 'mother' when in reality Mercedes is no older than Quinn, but there are many times Quinn can't help but feel it. Maybe it's because Mercedes comes from a loving family, that she can't help but be motherly to everyone else, or maybe Quinn is in that bad of a need of a mother figure in her life that Mercedes has no choice but to step up. Whatever the reason, Quinn doesn't care.

"It's a damn miracle you two didn't pick the same damn colour."

"Merce-."

"I know. I know. I said okay to her coming. I didn't know it meant I would have to spend most of my weekday nights listening to you two giggle like a bunch of highschoolers every two seconds. Gonna lose my damn mind with all the giggling and whispering. You both lucky I ain't my momma because I sure as hell would have told y'all to shut up."

The car pulls up to the event parking area and Quinn is near tears with Mercedes' rant, "You did tell us to shut up, though."

Mercedes drops her mouth open as Puck opens the door. Thankfully, Mercedes is too far into the car to be photographed and Quinn has her back facing the photographers. They stare at each other no more than a couple milliseconds before Mercedes is rushing her out of the SUV, "Get out the damn car before these photographers have an aneurism." Quinn laughs and struggles with the tail end of the dress but with the help of Tina, she is free to move by the time she takes her first step out, "Too busy talking back, look at chu can't even get out the damn car."

She is still laughing by the time she can fully stand. The dress trailing effortlessly behind her as she begins her walk down the line. A few other actors already talking to various people and posing for photographs. She spots Cooper in the distance, his gelled to perfection hair a beacon to anyone looking for him. He notices her too and waves, Quinn can hear the fans' excitement as he walks towards her. The cheers and screams drowning even that of the photographers asking for a pose.

"Grace Kelly!" Quinn tries not to roll her eyes at the nickname. She doesn't feel worthy of it, but he chose it the moment he saw her. She hasn't gotten him to drop it since. Or her for that matter because he has his arms around her and he is twirling her. He gives the photographers a show, that's for certain. But the dramatic display of affection is enough to have Mercedes clear her throat and glare at Cooper.

A small whisper with words resembling close to 'you better put her down' coming from behind Mercedes' smile.

Cooper doesn't push his luck and has Quinn set on her own two feet in no time. His eyes sending a silent apology to Mercedes before posing appropriately with Quinn.

"Why do I get the feeling your manager hates me."

"She's just protective."

Cooper doesn't disagree and moves them down the carpet, "I hear you brought a date."

"You heard wrong." Their tones low and behind wide smiles. A talent they had both mastered on set and in front of cameras. Sometimes to make jokes, other times to catch up without anybody really listening.

"Really? I hear a certain brunette is here and under your guest list." He holds her close for a crowd of photographers, an arm around her waist.

"And why are you so interested?" She puts a hand on his chest and she can hear the fans go wild.

"It's not every day Quinn Fabray brings someone to a premiere." He steps away with a smile, his hands taking hers, "I'm expecting an introduction later."

Cooper waves to the crowd before stepping away towards his own manager who is ushering him toward an on carpet interview. One that Mercedes shakes her head at when Quinn silently asks if she, too, should join.

It isn't long before fans are yelling and photographers are begging for a picture, but it isn't her they are pleading with. She turns her head toward the beginning of the carpet and she can't help the smile that reaches her eyes. In the distance a figure steps out of a vehicle. The hair just like they had agreed on, the dress ten times better than Quinn would have imagined now that Santana was actually in it, and everything else perfect.

Quinn takes a step but hears disagreement from Mercedes behind her.

"You better not, Quinn Fabray. You can talk all you want later." It isn't loud but the warning is clear. Quinn agreed to play by the rules of her manager with the invitation. Stepping out of line would only mean for Mercedes to tell her it was all a bad idea.

An idea comes to mind as a microphone is waving at her from the crowd of photographers and reporters. The logo, a good sign she knows she won't be reprimanded for choosing to speak with them.

"Quinn?" Mercedes is behind her but can't stop the words that come out of Quinn's mouth.

"I thought that was you, Alex!" Quinn is shaking hands and smiling, all the while keeping an eye on Santana's progress down the carpet, "I saw you through the crowd and I thought, I owe you a small Q&A."

The reporter doesn't look a day over 25 and is clearly shocked at a celebrity's memory of them. So shocked that the 'interview' is mostly Quinn giving a long winded answer to a question about the movie. Mercedes feels a presence next her, thinking it is the next group of actors in line for an interview but is surprised to see an equally disgruntled Kurt take place at her side.

"You got played." Is all he says, arms crossed and features set with no indication of malice toward her, unlike their previous encounters.

Mercedes looks at the distance between the two actresses and realization hits. Her eyes begin to narrow and her lips purse. She should have known Quinn would try something to bend the rules they had set. If she wasn't mad, she would be impressed at Quinn's on spot thinking.

Kurt and Mercedes watch silently as the girls dramatically act like they didn't plan on walking the carpet together. Their voices just loud enough for everyone around them hear. Both managers have to fight the urge to roll their eyes when Quinn talks just a little too sweet for the cameras and while Santana nods and agrees to whatever it is.

It's a show.

A show that fans love and the cameras adore. A show that Mercedes had tried to avoid but can't be upset at. No one is asking vulgar things, no one is asking about the marriage or the hospital incident. If anything, the little show makes her job a little easier when dealing with celebrity news.

"Don't worry, they won't try anything stupid. I have Santana's entire collection of Amy Winehouse CD's held hostage. She knows better." Kurt smiles as he says this, waving at Santana when she gives him a look.

"And I told Quinn I'd throw away all the bacon in the house."

"Really? Bacon?"

"Oh, boy, you don't know? Girl is like a baby dinosaur when it comes down to it. She'd be a damn fool to try something."

A few more cheers at the beginning of the carpet indicate the girls needing to move on so both managers take their respective 'children' and guide them farther down. Kurt and Mercedes making sure to have them stop at different reporters and never in the same interview.

* * *

><p>The girls keep to their word, for the most part. They don't paint a picture for the press any different than just friends which is a relief for Mercedes. It had been her biggest concern when the invitation was presented to her. But after the moment on the carpet, Quinn had stayed in line. So in line that she had asked Mercedes about the after party. An answer Quinn had been expecting to be a flat out 'no' but after a little huddle between Mercedes and Kurt, both managers came out with the agreement that the girls could attend.<p>

In a way, it had felt like Quinn had been asking permission to prom itself. Santana, of course, has joked about the two managers being paranoid over the silliest of things, but Quinn had managed to keep most of Santana's comments at bay.

Considering Quinn had not finished the last after party, she had wanted to make sure to make this one.

"Okay, seriously, the fact that we have to ask to go to a party? Who do they think we are?"

"They're being careful. Let them. We pay them for this."

"You would think they would at least dress better. For the amount I pay Kurt, he still dresses like he's on the Broadway a revival of Rent."

Quinn ignores Santana's commentary and begins to look around the party. Her eyes searching for a perfectly gelled head of hair. When she doesn't find Cooper in the throng of people mingling together, she turns her attention back to Santana who is bickering with Kurt about their deal. The deal, of course, meaning the situation with Kurt keeping Santana's Amy Winehouse CD's hostage in the trunk of his car.

"I want those back on the wall, Lady Lips, or so help me god I will go Naomi Campbell on your ass." Quinn witnesses a sharp elbow to Kurt's ribs and the boy can only glare.

A set of hands find themselves on Quinn's hips and she is being turned around to face bright blue eyes and a drunken smile.

"GRACE KELLY!"

The nickname doesn't go unnoticed by Kurt or Santana who watch the interaction with interest. Both forgetting their squabble, for the moment.

"Coop, again with the nickname." He smiles and it's charming, but Quinn knows better, "Why are you always drunk at these before I am?"

"How else do I deal with everyone? Open bar, Quinn. Live a little." He gives her hips a light squeeze before letting her go. His eyes glazed over but with the dim lighting not many could probably tell. "And you must be the famous Santana Lopez!"

Santana extends her arm to shake his hand, but he is already hugging her and Quinn doesn't have the time to explain boundaries because it's Cooper Anderson and Cooper Anderson is as good with boundaries as a curious child.

To Santana's credit, she doesn't push him away, if anything, she stares at him with shock but replaces it with a smile so fake it makes Quinn wince.

"Well, I don't know about famous, but-"

"Oh, but you are! But don't mind those nasty rumours. They go away eventually. If mine can, so can yours. At least you guys are pretty to look at when it comes to paparazzi photos. They always seem to catch me coming out a grocery store or something on a day off when I'm hungover. While you two, come out of a grocery store looking like models."

Quinn has to look over at Mercedes to clarify and all her manager can do is shake her head. The confusion lies with whether or not Mercedes is shaking her head at the fact that Cooper is drunk and saying this or if Mercedes is silently telling her to not worry about it.

"It's amazing how they come up with that stuff, though, right? You go to the store to buy food and all of a sudden people think you are in some horrid love affair and it's been going for months. Media right?"

Someone is calling Cooper in the distance and he is stepping away with a smile.

"What the hell is white collar talking about?" Santana whips her head to Kurt who is has his phone out and searching. Mercedes is doing the same but waves it off seconds later.

"It's just people spinning your grocery shopping adventures out of proportion. It'll die down."

"Out of proportion? Some people are calling Quinn-"

Mercedes sends a glare to Kurt and he shuts up.

"Calling me what?"

Santana, impressively and magically, has her own cellphone out. Where said cellphone had come from is (and should probably remain) a mystery, but Quinn can't help but take a look at Santana's dress. Her mind wondering about all the hiding spots the phone possibly could have been concealed. And there aren't many.

"Well Perez is calling you a 'liar and a hypocrite' and me a 'homewrecker'. Which I'm mad that they could only come up with that kind of statement. Whatever happened to the good shit?"

Kurt stays silent as Mercedes rolls her eyes, "It'll die down."

"But, hey, look, Q. They say I'm your secret lover." Santana rolls the 'r' at the end with a wink and Quinn can only push her lightly. "Hey, careful with the goods."

Hands make a lewd act of holding breasts but Kurt is quickly grabbing at Santana's hands and bringing them down like a pestering mother.

* * *

><p><strong>There is so much more I would like to share but I feel like I am not doing anything right. I don't know the entertainment world very well so please excuse any inadequacies in this story. There are many...= **


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